The Promise
by Tigerlily1
Summary: A holiday / Christmas ficlet. Harry must go to fight the final battle against Voldemort. And he must leave his wife behind. This is the reality. This is what they must accept. But before he leaves, Harry makes a promise…


Title: The Promise

Author: Tigerlily

Rating: PG

Summery:  A holiday / Christmas ficlet.  Harry must fight Voldemort.  And he must leave his wife behind.  This is the reality.  This is what they must accept.  But before he leaves, Harry makes a promise…

Disclaimer:  Harry Potter and all related name, places, etc. belong to J. K. Rowling.  Not me.  Get it?  Good.

Years after those hellish months between September and December, Hermione could still close her eyes and be transported back to that late September day when the leaves were golden and the air experimented with a new crispness.

            "You know I have to go," Harry had said to her.  They were out in the yard, enjoying the golden afternoon light.

            "I know."  Hermione couldn't bear to look at her husband.

            "It's unavoidable."

            "Yea."

            "If I don't go now, Voldemort will take over for certain.  There's no doubt this will be the final battle.  I've waited too long as it is."

            "Yes.  You told me."  Among the honeysuckle in the yard outside of their modest, lovely stone house, it was almost impossible to believe Voldemort existed at all.  But Hermione had seen that evil; he had infected every aspect of her life.  Oh yes, she knew to the deepest depth of her heart how real the Dark Lord was.

            The couple stood in silence for a while, not daring to move lest they should give time meaning.  No, better to sit and pretend this may not be the last few moments they would spend in each other's company.

            Finally, Hermione spoke.  "You need to leave tonight then?"  There was a slight squeak to her voice.  Her throat felt tight and rigid.

            "Yes.  After sun set."  Harry still couldn't bring himself to look at his wife.  Some trace of machismo would not let him break down sobbing in the garden.

            "And I can't go with you to help?"  Though she knew the answer, she had to ask, if only so she could tell herself she tried.

            "No.  Not you or Ron or Sirius – no one.  This is _my bloody destiny and mine alone."  By the trees on the horizon, Harry watched a starling swoop into the black shade and up into the dusky sky again.  Down and up, down and up, down and up, down and… it did not come back up.  He watched for that lone starling, but it never appeared above the trees again.  Harry refused to let himself interpret this as a bad omen._

            "Okay.  I don't agree, but I understand."  Hermione tried to keep her mind blank and in the moment, but it was impossible.  It kept jumping ahead, exploring thousands of possible futures for the two of them, most of them atrocious.  "Harry," she said, trying to dispel this dismal train of thought, "How long will you be gone?"

            "Impossible to say."

            "Please give me a number.  Anything.  Or I night go mad."

            He sighed.  "Today's the twenty-fifth?"

            "Yea…"

            "Well, if I'm not back in three months – that would be in December – "

            "Christmas," she interrupted.

            "What?"

            "Three months from today.  25th of December.  Christmas."

            "Oh, right.  Well, if I'm not back by Christmas, then…" he let the implication become solid.  "Just – just try to fight Voldemort as long as you can, okay?  Don't give in without a fight."

            "Did you ever think I would?" she said with a small smile.

            "Of course not.  I just thought it was my duty.  You know, it's in the script when Heroic Selfless Boy leaves his One True Love.  Now we just need some heavy, dramatic background orchestration and a hell of a passionate kiss and we'll be set."

            Hermione smiled at the joke, but didn't feel like laughing.  The sun continued its lazy path down to the hills on the horizon.  On the other side of the sky dome, evening stars twinkled into a faint existence.

            Suddenly, Hermione threw her arms around Harry, locking him into a tight embrace.  He held her as well, not letting his mind guess what lay beyond this moment.

            After a few seconds, they drew apart and finally looked eye to eye.  Both sets were saturated with salty tears.

            "Please," she whispered, "Please promise to be home by Christmas."

            For a moment, Harry stood torn.  There was no way he could ever guarantee this promise.  In fact, it was very likely he had no hope of keeping it.  But somehow, he needed the reassurance as much as she did.

            "I promise."

            Then he kissed her softly.  Not the kind requiring "heavy, dramatic background orchestration," but one full of just as much love and more sincerity.  It would have lasted longer, but that cursed sun decided at that moment to disappear behind the horizon.  The last rays of an autumn afternoon disappeared and the sky colored deep purple. 

            Harry pulled away from the kiss.  

            It was time to leave, and he hoped to God he would return.  

            By Christmas.

****

            Those last few days of September became October, and Harry did not return.  October ran into November, and Harry did not return.  November reincarnated itself into December, and Harry did not return.  The nip of cold, so refreshing and vibrant in its youth, was now black, morbid, and bitter.  Few knew of Harry's vanishing, fewer still of its reason, and only one knew of his promise to return by Christmas.  Hermione.

            The promise was like a helium balloon.  It remained high at first, floating and bobbing along with carelessness.  As time went on, it sank lower and lower to the ground until at last it filled with lead.  Hermione, at first carried by its buoyancy, now found herself forced to drag it behind in her weary footsteps.  Every day he didn't come home hinted at a tomorrow where the possibility was even less likely.

            The holidays arrived, bringing their mocking cheerfulness.  Ron brought Hermione to the Burrow, insisting she not spend Christmas by herself.  Christmas at the Weasleys' did lift Hermione's spirits.  The ghoul in the attic belted an off-key "Carol of the Bells" twenty-four seven, and an enlarged candy-cane shot through the ceiling (no doubt a result of a rapid-growth charm courtesy of Fred and George).  Percy and Penelope arrived a few days before Christmas with their twin toddlers Caroline and Timothy.  

            Hermione took two weeks off from the research institution where she worked.  Instead she spent her time baking sweets, wrapping presents, mending Christmas stockings, and babysitting the twins (the toddlers – not Fred and George, though they could have used the supervision more).

            Yet, despite the frenzy Hermione fully immersed herself in, lonely nights penetrated her heart with their icy fingers of despair and sinister possibilities.  She missed Harry with every cell in her body.  She wanted nothing more than to see his green eyes, hear his laugh, and feel his warm, strong arms around her.  Every night she cried herself to sleep knowing it was even more certain she would never see him again.

            _I'll never see him again._

_            I'll never see him again._

_            I'll never see him again…_

****

            And then Christmas came.  By the time Hermione staggered down the stairs, the Weasleys were halfway through opening gifts.

            "Come sit by me, Hermione," Ron called cheerily, sitting cross-legged by the Christmas tree.  "Here, I've made your pile of presents."

            Obediently, Hermione sat down and mechanically opened her gifts.  Book, nice falcon quill, book, chocolate frogs, wand polish, another book, stack of sugar quills, a pretty bracelet (_with love, from Ron said the note), tickets to a wizarding theatre group in Hogsmead, and an enchanted set of gardening shears ("For all that lovely honeysuckle around your house," Penelope explained).  _

            Somehow, Hermione smiled.  Somehow, she managed to thank the appropriate person.  Somehow, she got through the day under a mask of yuletide happiness.  But inside, she felt dead.  Dead because Harry was dead.  He had not fulfilled his promise.

            Time, heartless villain that it is, did not stop to allow Hermione any rest.  She had no spare moment to contemplate the demise of her husband, no extra minute to simply cry.  Time swept on, and with it, Hermione.  So, quite suddenly it seemed, she found herself in her bed in Ginny's room (Ginny had not been there as she was training in Spain), ready to go to sleep just like the conclusion of any normal Christmas of any normal year.  Too tired to contemplate the irony or paradox or whatever the hell those other fancy terms were, Hermione fell into a restless sleep.

****

            _The snowstorm blew quietly but with a deadly force.  It knew how powerfully chilling it was; it did not need to brag._

_            Only one man dared to disturb its newly conquered territory.  He walked steadily, his heavy footsteps puncturing the snow, making his way slowly to the Burrow._

_            Hermione ran outside as soon as she saw him.  Her bare feet cried out for protection from the ice, but she pointedly ignored them.  After all, Harry was home!  He had come back!  She literally wept with joy; the air so frigid that even the salt water tears froze to her face.  She disregarded this trifling element of the weather.  Precipitation was nothing compared to the utter bliss she felt._

_            But her heart blacked as she drew near.  This man was not Harry.  She stopped running, became motionless, her brain as frozen as the ground she stood on.  _

            The man spoke.  Hermione saw his mouth form words, but did not hear them.  Her world was silent, without even the comfortable familiarity of white noise.  But she knew what he was saying.  Her subconscious processed it and force-fed it to her brain:

_            I'm so sorry but Harry died he died bravely fighting to the last Voldemort has returned unspeakable horrors have already happened in Muggle London there is no hope please if you have relatives over seas go there you may be safe for at least a little while this is the end God help us all…_

            Hermione woke up, glanced at the clock, and groaned.  She hadn't even been asleep for a half hour.  The memory of the nightmare forced its way into her mind, and she shuddered, hoping she really _was_ bad at divination, hoping the dream wasn't a premonition.

            The Burrow was bathed in the comfortable silence of a well lived in house when its occupants are all asleep.  As quietly as she could, Hermione crept downstairs, intending to grab a glass of warm milk.  She never quite got there.  The sight of the Christmas tree stopped her.  It's the fairy lights twinkled, full of Christmassy joy.

            At that moment, Hermione hated the tree with a inhuman passion.  To her, it epitomized hope and love and family and everything that was lost when Harry broke his promise.  With one swift stroke, Hermione punched the tree.  An indescribable rage coursed through her body.  _Damn you Harry!_ she thought.  _I hate you!  I hate you for making me feel like this!  I hate you for breaking your bloody promise.  You promised me you'd come home alive!  You said it would be by Christmas!_  She gave the tree another strike.  A glass-balled ornament fell, shattering on the wooden floor.  She stared at the broken shards of glass, glinting like melting icicles.  And all her barriers broke.  Hermione attacked the tree, kicking and scratching.  She tore off twigs and needles and sent homemade ornaments flying across the room, their beads falling from the glue that seized them for so many years.

            Finally, out of breath she collapsed, looking at the mangled tree before her.  Most of its decorations lay about the room now, and about half way up the tree snapped in half, giving it a defeated, weary look.  A part of her mind that was still somewhat practical vaguely wondered what she was going to tell the Weasleys.  Really, she was surprised she hadn't woken them all up.  Years of living with Fred and George must have made them immune to odd noises at night.

            And then she saw.  Out the window, a man made his way through the snow, heading toward the Burrow.  The messenger.  _I'm so sorry but Harry died he died bravely fighting to the last Voldemort has returned unspeakable horrors have already happened in Muggle London there is no hope please if you have relatives over seas go there you may be safe for at least a little while this is the end God help us all…_

            Well, Hermione wasn't going to wait anymore.  She had waited for three months like a good little wife and she was tired of it.  It was time for action.  Whatever news the messenger brought, she would just have to face it.

            Silently, she opened the door and stepped out into a land dominated by snow.  Bare feet and all, she walked on toward the messenger, who was gradually advancing toward her.  The snow left a thin, white veil over everything.  Once she was ten steps away from the house, Hermione had the impression of suddenly being stuck in a snow globe.  Though the wind delivered a clear, icy bitterness to her skin, Hermione refused to clasp her arms around her torso for warmth.  Instead, she kept them rigid by her side, letting the cold seep into the warmest places of her body – under her arms, around her neck…

            Finally, the messenger and Hermione met each other.  When she saw him, she could have sworn her heart stopped, just for a moment.  And then it drummed out a rhythm so painful, it felt like her entire body was nothing but a highway for blood.  Her head spun, and her throat tightened.  Because, of course, the messenger was Harry.

            She looked at him closely.  He was thin, thinner even than usual, and pale.  A few gray hairs invaded the jet-blacks, and his scar was just a tad thicker and redder, as if it permanently ingrained itself into his very soul.  And then there were his eyes.  They had a certain bleakness to them, a darkness, a shadow.  Those eyes had seen many horrible things, things no eyes should ever bear witness too.

            But it was still _Harry_.  He stood there, he lived, and he breathed.  He had survived, and, even more importantly, so had his spirit.

            He smiled at Hermione, and started to speak.  Somehow, the words never came, because he hugged her instead.  He clasped her to him, fingers entwining in her bushy hair.  She felt his shoulders shake, and realized he was crying, that trace of machismo long forgotten.

            Then all the anger, bitterness, and cold Hermione felt melted away.  She clung to him as well, not crying (she had done enough of that), but simply allowing herself to realize that yes, this was Harry.  He was here in her arms at last.

            After a while, he pulled away and said, "I thought you would be here.  Knew Ron wouldn't let you spend Christmas all alone."

            "Yea.  He's a good friend."  Then she remembered something.  "Oh no."

            "What?"

            "Well, I didn't really pay him back in a very nice way."

            "What's this?"

            "I kind of – well, I – I destroyed his Christmas tree."

            "You did _what_?"

            "You heard me."

            "Hermione – well, _why_?"  He tried to look stern, but somehow amusement crept into his tone.

            Hermione smiled.  "Because I missed you."

            "Me?  I caused you to destroy a Christmas tree?"

            "Yea.  You promised to be home by Christmas, and when you didn't come, I just felt so _scared_."  Her voice choked up, but she continued, "There was this terrible certainty that I would never see you again.  I had this awful dream, and I came downstairs, and there was the Christmas tree, and it just looked so – oh I don't know…"  She took a deep, calming breath, and said lightheartedly, "Do you think Ron'll forgive me?"

            Harry wrapped his arms around her, placing his head on the top of hers.  Hermione's head lay against his chest.  She listened to his heartbeat and decided it must be the most wonderful sound in the world.

            "Don't worry," he said.  "I'll make him forgive you."

            "Thanks.  Are you all right then?  Really?"

            "I don't know.  Voldemort's gone, so at least there's that.  I have a feeling I'll be having nightmares for years to come though."

            "I'll help you through them."

            "I knew you would.  I love you so much, Hermione."

            She would have returned his sentiment, but his lips pressing upon hers made it difficult.

            The couple kissed in the snow, oblivious to it's cold, just knowing the pure joy of their reunion.  Inside the house, a clock's steady chime rang.  Once, twice, thrice… twelve times.  Midnight.

            Harry Potter was home for Christmas.

A/N:  I wrote something uplifting.  I wrote something cheerful.  I wrote something with a _happy ending_.  This is amazing, as I'm the queen of angst.  So… all you lovely little readers… first, let me THANK YOU for reading (at least, I hope you didn't just skip down to the end)… second, let me BEG you to REVIEW (honestly, I love review.  They really make my day.  Spread some cheer, please?)… third, HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO EVERYONE!!!!!

Oh yea, for those Americans (yea, and I'm one of 'em), "fairy lights" is another term for Christmas lights.


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